First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. Not that all months aren’t rare. But there be bad and good, as the pirates say. Take September, a bad month: school begins. Consider August, a good month: school hasn’t begun yet. July, well, July’s really fine: there’s no chance in the world for school. June, no doubting it, June’s best of all, for the school doors spring wide and September’s a billion years away.

But you take October, now. School’s been on a month and you’re riding easier in the reins, jogging along. You got time to think of the garbage you’ll dump on old man Prickett’s porch, or the hairy-ape costume you’ll wear to the YMCA the last night of the month. And if it’s around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash grey at twilight, it seems Hallowe’en will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.

Something Wicked This Way Comes By Ray Bradbury

 
I am grateful for the autumn season, crispy golden, yellow — brown and red — all fluttering down in a warm, chill breeze… leaving one to wonder, “How does nature do that? Combine warmth and a chill all wrapped up as one?” The melancholy joys of a just passed summer and distant youth flavor the baking and bubbling that begins to warm up kitchens that were tucked away for beach days and starry nights. That was when the stars waited a long day before coming out. Now… they’re bright in the sky before one has the chance to catch one’s breath and breath in a full day.

There’s the fall from grace
The fall before winter
It is the season that, for me, starts the big three of festivals; Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas/Hanukkah — New Year’s Eve being more of a matriarch wrapping everything up in her cloak, the whole year, before the new year’s spark starts the wick which will burns new wax for another twelve months.

Fall has an autonomy, as Nature begins to slow down and turn inward, a sense of self that is also connected…

I do love fall, and a good turn of word— and a bit of suspense, perhaps, lingering in the forested, moonlit air.